


I Hope He Calls You By My Name

by pennywife (orphan_account)



Category: Barry (TV 2018)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Bisexual Barry Berkman, Bisexual NoHo Hank, Disturbing Themes, Drunk Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, I really don’t know how to tag this, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Jealousy, Manipulation, Multi, POV Second Person, Reader Is Not Good, Reader Is Pretty Messed Up, Short, Some Messed Up Stuff In Here, some gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 04:06:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20790356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/pennywife
Summary: The minute this man walked into Barry’s life, you knew Barry would never be yours.





	I Hope He Calls You By My Name

**Author's Note:**

> No good way to tag this but this is 100% about a deranged, heartbroken female OC who tries to get pregnant by Hank because she knows Barry is falling in love with him. So yeah, pretty messed up stuff here. Don’t skip the tags, folks!

You want this practice in self-torture to come to an end, to sob about it tomorrow all alone in your room. You want to lick your wounds in peace, and try to feel like this was more of a victory than it was. The pain inside demands to be felt, demands to be heard far louder than the comfort of how easily he brought you to his house. You could have fucked him right there in the bar, before the liquor even had the time to soak into your bloodstream, and he still wouldn’t have seen through the bullshit. 

He’d smelled expensive. He smelled like the cold, like something you can’t bottle, something you would wear every single day if only you knew how. The scent lingers at the edge of your throat, makes your eyes roll back in your head when he leans in to kiss you. Even down here, with your back rubbed so raw from the carpet you swear to God it’s going to scar, it all just smells expensive.

Pain cuts through the alcohol like a razor to an artery. His fingers are thicker than Barry’s. They burn when they press inside, slick with his spit; searching and stretching every hole you have to give him. He wants you to taste them afterwards, wants to taste them himself. He pumps his cock in his hand. Fluid pearls at the tip, weeping over his knuckles when he squeezes just right.

It’s funny though. When he says he wants you he says it with his eyes opened. When Barry says he wants you, he says it through his teeth.

There’s envy on the tip of your tongue, mouth spilling over with venom at the way Hank‘s smile spreads so perfectly across his face. Such a handsome man; so much more beautiful than you, so much more polite. All that waiting around for Sally to leave, and Barry’s never going to be with you anyway.

It’s inevitable. Unavoidable. The minute this man walked into Barry’s life, you knew Barry would never be yours.

The tequila boils your blood; polluted with salt and acid and hate. That old video plays at the back of your eyes, so dark and grainy you could scarcely even see. A windshield bursts from the force of a bullet. Warm bodies turn to corpses, slumping down into the edges of their seats. Hank’s shoulder gushes red, and he crawls out through the back like a coward.

If only Barry’s aim had been a little bit better.

Oh, God— That’s sick. You’re _sick._ That’s why you’re even able to do this, how you’ve managed to convince yourself that this isn’t as gut-wrenchingly fucked as it is. You may not have done the things that Hank and Barry have done themselves, but you’re still just a fucking _monster. _

Words pour from Hank’s lips; you can’t understand what they mean, wouldn’t be listening to them even if you did. His hand bruises your hip, presses your thigh back when he splits you with his cock. You forgot what it felt like to have this, to be fucked through and through, biting the back of your wrist until pain lights up the darkness of the room. He fucks you like he needs you, like he’s missed you; like you weren’t just a desperate girl alone at the bar.

He fucks you like this isn’t just a way of passing the time, making way until the day that Barry finally breaks down to his knees. Twenty-four million people in Southern California, and all Hank wants is Barry.

_Why the fuck does it have to be Barry?_

Hank sounds out a moan, as full-throated and deep as one of your own. You’re wetter than you expected, so wet you can hear it, and you wonder just why that is.

“You feel _great.”_ He pants out, stomach taut, sweat beading over a hairless brow. “I do not know how long until I...”

“Come.” You breathe, and your mouth clamps perfectly around the tattoo on his neck. “Come for me. Come inside of me.” The thought sours your stomach, hollows your chest like a shovel to the lungs; but you say it like you crave it. “Trust me, Hank.” Your legs close around his back, muscles tightening like the coils of a serpent. “You can do it...You can trust me...”

And he does.

His eyes are black now. The colored rings of his irises are so slight, so obsidian in this light, you could swear they aren’t even there. He doesn’t look like a person anymore, like shapes in a dark hallway when your mind starts to play tricks. His hips jerk forward, so suddenly deep you let out a groan, and he twitches inside of you until you can’t tell the difference between the throbbing of his dick and your own pounding heartbeat.

Your jaw turns to steel in your mouth. He softens within you, then at long last pulls out to roll onto his back beside you. The tears well at the corners of your eyes, now that you’re empty once again.

One of his hands goes out toward your cheek. The other goes to the angry pink scar at the crux of his shoulder, and he watches your eyes as you follow it there.

“I watched him fall in love with you,” you whisper, now that it’s over. Your voice cracks, sounds so much smaller than you had expected it to.

A moment passes, and then his face pulls together all at once. He looks at you like he’s lost, like he’s younger than he is, like he has no idea just how much he’s going to hurt you someday. How he’s going to pry open your chest, tear your heart out and squeeze it in his palm.

Your head lulls back up towards the ceiling, and your lips are a straight line.

“I guess none of that really matters that much now anyway, though.” You offer him a shrug, and trace your fingers over the stretch of skin between your hips.

He doesn’t understand what you mean just yet; but he will. Hand stilling just below your navel, you can’t help but let loose a smile. It’s sick, but it’s perfect. 

Barry may not ever be only yours, but now? 

Now Hank will never be only his. 


End file.
